[Norwegians for Rod Stewart]

set for the wrong channel -- expectation disappointed is a coach making a three-point turn on a narrow mountain road

a group of five people sit in the row behind usthe drunken sounding septuagenarian says “we are Norwegian” his exuberance embraces and repels he is saying hello to everyone who passes he is making a good time, he is feeling his way to it his way of speaking sounds drunken or he is drunk or both.

He says “we came from Norway to see Rod Stewart but he was cancelled so we are here instead.”

Here is London, here is a Kings Cross theatre tent, here is Lazarus, an idea of a musical, a David Bowie brainchild, a kind of Broadway attempt to continue the man who fell to earth. It’s a sequel to a film. A piece of style. Not a concert. Not raspy, not rowdy. Not particularly loud. Our Norwegian friend sings along when he knows the words: ch-ch-ch -changes. He also knows Heroes: “I will be King, and you, you will be Queen . . .” and he knows when to say “like dolphins can swim” garrulous, he is garrulous, “a garrulous old man who chattered like a magpie,” excessively talkative.

Otherwise it is quiet back there, too quiet. And his disappointment becomes mine.